Lost Things

It all starts because there’s a certain Great White shark—small for its species and covered in thick, white scars—who has a disposition for mayhem. It bangs against the glass of the aquarium when visitors stop to ponder the aquarium life, or even as they pass. The shark seems to have an intuition about which guests have a more sensitive constitution, as it has a great track record of singling out which people will scream the loudest, which children will be so terrified that their parents will have a talk with the administrator about that “godawful beast.”

When not deliberately scaring the piss out of visitors with teeth gnashing or glass banging, the shark has an uncanny pastime of staring with its black eyes at visitors and aquarium staff. The administrator has even happened upon the beast eating a dinner that consumes its whole attention, only to stop the moment the administrator walked into the room. It had then changed its focus to give the administrator the full force of The Stare. It’s eerie and disturbing. Board members of the New York Aquarium have heard enough yelling from disgruntled parents to even call it, well, supernatural. The administrator? He doesn’t know what to call it. What do you call behavior from a beast even the animal scientists can’t help but call unnatural?

The problem is that if the administrator does anything, ahem, drastic. Or permanent. About the Great White, he knows that the aquarium will be at risk of losing the financial funding necessary to keep the aquarium running at its best. The aquarium’s biggest benefactor is a bit. . . eccentric. The administrator has heard from the benefactor’s secretary very passionate things about what scientific establishments the benefactor chooses to give—and take back—his money. The administrator has heard of establishments that the benefactor doesn’t agree with morally, and therefore does not bestow any sort of financial help to.

The administrator has no wish to be morally at odds with the benefactor. The administrator has to deal with the chaotic energy of a mischievous beast, at the risk of crying children and fainting sensitives, because doing away with it would mean the death of the aquarium and all of its inhabitants. That, simply, won’t do.

They’re at a loss, and then the administrator’s young assistant half-jokingly proposes hiring an explorer or field scientist to tame the beast.

Deidre Mud has written three books on aquatic life while living abroad on steam ships and sailboats, has multiple doctorates in the business of animal sciences, and dives off the coast of South Africa for fun. None of these things are easy to accomplish in 1909, the administrator thinks, and his starry-eyed view of her accomplishments soars higher when he learns that she hasn’t even made it to thirty yet.

When she shows up to the New York Aquarium in a well tailored suit and bell skirt, the administrator isn’t expecting her to be a Salaman. Her pompadour of hair is pinned at the top of her head and she carries equipment that looks expensive and extensive, textbooks poking out of leather bags and duffles full of photography equipment and what looks to be hunks of smoked beef. He had been impressed with her resume, he is impressed by the weight of field equipment that she carries. But he finds himself staring at the smooth mound of her nose with its angular slits, the large, circular black eyes, the textures on her skin and the spots of muted yellow. The administrator blinks and does his best not to glance at the hem of her skirt, hoping he won’t catch a glance of her tail.

When she hefts a bag further up her shoulder and extends a hand out for him to shake, there are four fingers on it with short, rounded fingertips.

The administrator shows her where she can place her things, and explains that this section of the aquarium is closed to visitors until they can get the shark problem resolved.

“Oh dear,” Deidre says, hairless ridges of brow rising in incredulity, “I hope you haven’t been referring to them as such when you’re around the creature.”

“I meant no offense—”

“None taken by me, sir. I only meant that sharks can be quite dramatic, in my experience, and if you are speaking to them negatively it can often do the opposite of placating them.”

Deidre strides forward before the administrator can comment, he looks quizzically at her retreating back. She steps to the aquarium glass, and as the administrator comes to stand next to her, they see only shadows in the deep water.

“You do a fair share of field work around these beasts, I take it?” the administrator asks, admittedly not looking very hard for the shark as he studies Deidre Mud out of the corner of his eye. The small, stunted frills that line her throat under her jaw are almost translucent in the light reflecting off the water. “Did you always have the desire to study predators of the deep?”

“Not always,” Deidre turns her wide eyes to the administrator, twinkling. She grins a charming grin full of pointed teeth. “When I was a young child I befriended one of those predators. I had an aptitude for swimming, you see, even by Salaman standards. My father used to say I should aim for the Olympics. I made a friend among the creatures in the water, a true friend even though we were just children. Then I lost her. So yes, I would say I spend a large amount of my time on field work among them.”

She turns to her pile of paraphernalia and digs through the leather bag full of texts, pages of loose paper, yellowed with age, get shuffled around and a few float to the marble floor.

“Aha,” Deidre mutters. When she turns back around, dark fingers unbuttoning the tailored jacket, she holds up a tiny silver device with wires leaping out of one end only to dive back into the other end of the small rectangle. She places the device against the glass and flips a few small switches. A barely detectable hum fills the air, and a crackle fizzes around them. It’s only a few minutes later—the little device’s electric current running against the glass—that a shadow appears in the depths of the water, behind the coral and schools of smaller fish. A jellyfish swims mindlessly in front of them, tentacles twisting around themselves and hiding the shadow from view.

And then, it's there. The beast hovers above them, the swath of dark gray ending prematurely to start the stretch of white at the shark’s eyeline, making it more white than it is gray. A jagged, trench like scar runs from the area between its eyes to just above its rows of heinous teeth, gleaming in the blue water. Its tail swishes side to side, like a metronome meant to lull prey. It looks mean, floating closer to the glass as if to, at any moment, smash against the barrier. The gash of its teeth would make a jester smile, laughing at its victim’s terror. The administrator takes an involuntary step back, nails digging into the palms of his hands as he clasps his arms behind his back.

“What do you think, little shark?” Deidre asks, the murmur almost gentle. She switches the silver device off and fits it in a breast pocket.

She places her naked fingers to the glass.

The beast seems to focus on her, beady eyes black as hell and reflecting no light.

The administrator feels his heartbeat thudding in his chest, and he takes another step back.

Deidre starts to whistle, a slow melody that sounds like a melancholy sea shanty.

Water splashes over the edge of the glass, drenching the administrator so that his mustache drapes over his mouth and his glasses are coated in droplets and steam. He can’t see. He fumbles backward. He trips over a crack in the floor and throws himself away from the beast. He scoots backward until his back hits a pillar, throwing his glasses off of his face and pressing a hand to his mouth in mounting horror.

All he sees is the great body of the beast flapping on the ground in front of its containment, “small for its species” seems like bullshit when there are no more skewed reflected perspectives and no more barriers. It thrashes, sandpaper texture of its flesh scraping across the floor and its fins smacking against the glass. Blood dribbles down from the trauma inflicted to the cartilage of its nose, eyeballs rolling in its head and teeth larger, more serrated up close.

Deidre lays hands on its back, hovering over gills and the never ending expanse of muscle.

The thrashing stops, the shark goes still.

Then in its place—a beautiful woman, dark skin glowing under the high ceilings of the aquarium, miles of black curls coiling around her in a halo, framing her beautifully round face and covering the naked skin that glows with pink and white scars. A jagged scar follows the line of her nose and breaks above her full lips, a streak of blood trailing out of a nostril, an expression of wonder laid bare across her face. She kneels before Deidre, the rounded fingertips placed carefully on one of the woman’s shoulders, the curve of her jaw.

“I knew I would find you someday,” Deidre says with her sharp toothed, gentle smile, “my friend.”